


Swish Swish

by lupisashes



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Fluff, M/M, future scenarios
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-01-19 12:17:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1469488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lupisashes/pseuds/lupisashes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt Responses from tumblr.</p><p>3: Kazu teases a worried Shintarou.<br/>4: Sleepy morning rituals as completed by Shintarou.<br/>5: Shintarou craves chocolate. </p><p>Characters/pairings will be added as they come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. TakaMido: When will we?

**Author's Note:**

> [takaokazunyari](http://takaokazunyari.tumblr.com): tAKAMIDO WHERE THEY’RE DATING BUT IT SEEMS LIK E SEX WItH SHin-cHAN IS VERY VERY FAR FROM HAPPENINg. SO TAKAO DOES SOMETHING ABOUT IT ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> [Crossposted to tumblr](http://lupisashes.tumblr.com/post/81998583269/takaokazunyari-replied-to-your-post-taking-prompts).

"S-sex?" 

"Yes. Sex."

Kazunari couldn't help the small quirk of his lips. Not with the way his adorable Shin-chan was blushing, his eyes cast downward, unwrapping his fingers with a hasty determination rubbed course with embarrassment.

Shintarou was always like this when it came to heartfelt conversations; embarrassed by his own feelings and how blatantly Kazu expressed his. He was tsundere through and through, but he had never once run from Kazu when he'd brought something up. Kazunari admired that. Respected that Shintarou Midorima was never a coward, no matter how flustered he became. It almost made the point guard want to bring up matters of the heart more often. If only to see Shintarou fidget and blush. 

Much like he was; face growing steadily brighter as the tape caught around his quaking fingers as he tried (and failed) to remove it.

Shintarou jumped when Kazu shuffled forward on Shintarou's bed, knees bumping against the taller man's. He was sitting in front of him, their school blazers flung on the floor and folded neatly over Shintarou's desk chair, bags by the bed, one upright, the other keeled over like a sodden drunk by the end of the bed when it had been kicked off earlier in the afternoon.

The point guard couldn't help but chuckle as he took Shintarou's hands in his own, fingers playing with digits far more elegant than his own, before he tugged the other man's hand to his lips. He kissed the tops of them lightly, chapped lips barely a whisper against knuckles stained white from the death grip Shintarou had on his hands. Shintarou barely moved otherwise, eyes cast down towards his lap. 

"Shin-chan, I'm up here." 

Kazunari's toes tickled at Shintarou's shins, his voice lined with good humour as his partner sat upright and glowered down on him, pink still clinging to his cheeks. He was sitting straight and still, an excellent example of fine posture, even if he looked like he'd snap in two with the tiniest breeze. A frown sliced through his face, severe and unattractive simply because Kazu knew it was etched from honest discomfort. But he held his gaze, steel blue to emerald green, and wouldn't allow it to waver. 

Kazu had had time to think over this issue for a good few weeks. It had crept up on him much like exams did; he knew it was there, and should be addressed, but he chose to ignore it until there was nothing he could do but claw at his textbooks and pound the information into his own head (though he'd had to more address the issue, clamber out of pessimistic territory, grow some balls and talk about his issues). And despite his hormone flooded mind, haunted with images of Shin-chan's fine, muscular back still damp with water from his after practice shower, and Shin-chan when he was tired, and Shin-chan when he deemed Kazu worthy enough to cuddle with whilst they watched a movie - he'd managed to come up with the right words to explain and hopefully settle his worries.

But despite his preparations - reciting his part of the discussion with himself most mornings and nights, working through each ulcer-inducing and utterly ludicrous worry that Shintarou didn't really want him - well, despite his nerves and the fact he'd forgotten every version of his speech, Kazu could be brave too. 

"Shin-chan," Kazu said, smiling, "I really, really like you. You know that, right?" Shintarou's blush dropped down his neck, his ears turning scarlet as well, but his gaze hadn't left Kazu's even as his eyelids drooped shyly, "We hold hands, kiss and cuddle sometimes - when you can stand to have me so close." He winked, grinning, "And I can survive with that. But that doesn't mean I don't have urges. I'm just like any normal high school boy; brimming with hormones. Sometimes it's so hard not to pull you aside after practice and have my way with you, y'know? I feel the need to be as close as possible with you." 

He took a deep breath, biting at his lower lip as he drops his eyes, gathered his courage and raised silvery-blue to meet green again. Shintarou's thumb tickled at his fingers, providing comfort. 

"You've pulled away when I've tried to take what we have between us a bit further." He finally said. 

Kazu found it fascinating how Shintarou's eyes widened slightly from behind his smudged glasses. Shintarou's gaze hadn't so much as flickered away from his own, and Kazu took comfort in the way Shintarou's hands had gone clammy with sweat. At least he wasn't alone in that. He squeezed Shintarou's hands, shifted them so he could entwine one set of fingers together. He'd gone completely still again, held tense and rigid as though he might have crumbled otherwise.

"You want to have sex?" The green haired man eventually said, voice somewhat steady.

A chuckle, honest despite it's hoarseness, bubbled out of Kazunari's throat. He swiped a thumb over Shintarou's knuckles, willing him to relax before he burst a blood vessel. He couldn't help but whisper, conspiratorially, "For starters. But you forgot the most important part; I want to have sex with you,  _Shintarou_." 

His partner glanced down, the cogs hidden beneath silken, green locks tinkering away with that admission. He felt large hands squeeze his, listened carefully as Shintarou breathed deep - in and out, in and out. Kazu had always found it amusing how Shintarou would mull over things until the words lost all meaning simply because he'd saturated it in possibilities. Still, he knew his Shin-chan. And he needed a moment to process the information given to him.

So he watched.

Silence wrapped itself around their shoulders. Cool, though not in the refreshing way their towels were after a game. Kazu busied himself with unwrapping Shintarou's fingers, playing idly with the long, slender digits once he has the tape flung over the side of the bed. Shintarou noticed if his unimpressed huff was anything to go by. Then he eyed finely toned forearms, his elbows and Shin-chan's shoulders. He traced them through his shirt, barely thinking of what they'd feel like under his palms, bare and pale as they were. They'd be hard as rocks too, with the rigidity Shintarou held himself with.

Shutoku's ace broke the silence, cracking it open with a voice held together by stringy force as he met Kazu's eyes again, "It's not that I don't want to..."

Shintarou clamped his lips together, his brows pulled in as he puzzled out what he wanted to say. Kazunari squeezed his hand. Silent in his acceptance of Shintarou's need to line up his thoughts and his feelings on the matter, no matter what it was in completion. That didn't mean he wasn't hoping with every single cell in his structure that there'd be some nooky happening soon. 

With a deep breath, Shintarou continued, "I also want to be physically intimate with you. Especially since we started go on our - on our outings. I have thought about you - us - together. In bed." Shintarou's eyes darted down to their tangled hands, a simple break to strengthen himself before he continued, "You are terribly distracting sometimes. Most of the time. But-" 

Kazunari's gut tightened, his heart had been jumping with a joy so pure Kazu's surprised he'd not been glowing. The knot had returned again, however, as Shintarou paused, breathed deep once more and released his next words on an exhale.

"But not right now. Not yet." 

It was all Kazunari wanted to hear. 

He couldn't help himself as he launched himself at Shintarou, arms wrapping around the other man's neck so he could laugh into a strong shoulder, plant a wet, grateful kiss on Shintarou's slender neck. He's giddy, excited and so  _happy_ , because he was honestly worried that Shintarou would say that as much as he liked him, it wasn't to the extent to get their dicks out together. Which was stupid, he realised, but the mind does worry and Shin-chan is Shin-chan and Kazu often wonders that if Oha Asa said to choose either sex or bad luck, he was sure which Shintarou would choose... 

"That's fine, Shin-chan!" 

It's an urge Kazunari was too weak to resist. So with a bit of twisting and his hands buried deep in Shintarou's green hair, Kazu pressed his lips to Shintarou's. Messy, was what that kiss was. Messy and perfect. Call Kazu a sap as much as you wanted, but he'd never tire of his Shin-chan's taste or the way he trembled in his arms, shuddering from head to toe even as he pawed pathetically at the front of Kazu's shirt. 

The rest of him followed a moment later, legs slipping around the taller man's waist so he could sit comfortably in his lap. That had Shintarou going all stone-statue on him again. Claws tugged at his white shirt, as Shintarou wretched his mouth away.

"Not now!" He gasped.

Kazu laughed, "Eventually, I know! Right now I just want to hold you and maybe make out for a while," Kazu grinned, sitting forward to press his forehead against Shintarou's burning one, "You've made me so very happy, Shin-chan. One day in my future is a day where Shin-chan and I will dance the horizontal tango. When we will be as close as two lovers can be. When we will  _sha-boink_." 

Shin-chan's face was arguably redder than the tomato he'd carried around that day, "Stop that, idiot!" 

"You said you would, Shin-chan. Do the deed, screw, bang-" He practically rippled against the man as his lips found Shintarou's ear, whispered in the filthiest way he knew how, " _fuck_." He licked up Shintarou's earlobe, nipping at it.

" _Takao_ _!"_

He was laughing so hard he shook, even as Shintarou pushed and tugged at him, attempting to dislodge Kazu from where he's latched onto his ace's front. Shintarou fell backwards, legs squirming under Kazu so he could fling him off - but Kazu had a younger sister and he knew how to wrap his tentacles around something and never let go. They rolled around like little boys, both careful of fragile glasses that had fallen askew on a pretty face, even as they kicked and pushed and tugged at one another. It was only when Shintarou nearly flipped himself off his own bed that they settled, scarlet faced and with warm smiles. Kazu tugged Shintarou close, his smile breaking into a grin. Their hands eventually found each other's again.

The silence this time was like a warm blanket enveloping them tight. Comforting, comfortable and utterly perfect now that Kazu was sure they had a chance of lasting.

This time it's Kazunari that broke the quiet. He snorted, shuffling forward so his face was pressed into Shintarou's neck and Shintarou got a mouth of dark hair.

" _'Physical intimacy'._  Really, Shin-chan?"

"Shut up, Takao."


	2. MuraMido: Protection

Murasakibara Atsushi isn’t a stranger to bullies. He's had his fair share of run-ins with them throughout his school career, though admittedly far fewer than the average man. He's learnt that crushing those special individuals that think bringing hardship is their calling, before their business really gets going is one of the more effective ways of defending yourself. A quick attack to unsettle the nerves and put them on the defensive, if not out of the game completely. 

They haven’t changed since his days in school. Not if what he’d heard earlier that day were anything to go by.

It’s not that Atsushi has a particularly protective side. He freely admits he’d rather sit back and watch as arguments or problems are dealt with. In his experience and his own opinion, one that can’t protect themselves should learn to do so fast. There is no point depending on others, when you can’t depend on yourself first. But there is something that makes his skin crawl about his little cousin’s experiences that make him want to be her shield.

Murasakibara Kiki is eight, tall for her age (a tune Atsushi and most Murasakibaras know very well), with dark purple hair and no sweet tooth to speak of. Atsushi calls her strange himself, considering the last point, but he is family and family loves and cares for family even if said family are obnoxious bastards. The little bug that picks on her is merely that; an insect.

She’d cried, telling him.

“He p-pulled my hair and called me dumb and t-too tall. He said people only hang out with me because they’re scared I’ll sit on them and they’ll  _die_.”

Atsushi’s never been one for speeches, for words of comfort. But he’d pulled her into his lap, held her close and told her his stories. Hoped she’d understand that even if she was a girl, even if her teachers would scold her, that her parents would scold her, that protecting herself was okay.

He’d told her of the one time when he was around Kiki’s age, when a particularly obnoxious pre-schooler decided he was too tall.

“Weird,” he’d called him.

“Unnatural,” he’d followed with.

“No one likes you.”

(Atsushi now realises was a silly thing to get angry about)

By the end of that recess the boy had tears in his eyes and his backside smudged with dirt. His Ma had had a lot to say about his handling of the situation – it was a simple push, Atsushi still thinks. He was taller, bigger, gifted with a quickness and strength that his brothers had developed in him early with their play.

His opponent had been a little target, and had required little effort as a result.

Not many commented on his height from then on. A few off-hand comments here and there, though most were mesmerised, awe-inspired, terrified. Nothing severe. Annoying, yes, but no where near harmful. Atsushi wasn’t like Ao-chin, looking for a challenge where ever one might appear. He’d made sure to make a point of that; that just because Kiki was bigger, that she not turn into the little bugs that liked to tug at her hair and push her around.

She’d seemed happier after that, but Atsushi had offered her pocky just in case. He supposes it was a good sign, when she refused.

He sighs, flexing muscles turned to goo with the heat of the room. Winter is a bother, and their room is small and muggy. Mido-chin feels the cold; wears long sleeves and slacks before the snow even starts to fall. Their heater’s on high, the blinds drawn and Atsushi feels like he could fall asleep content with the fact that he’ll waken in a lake of his own sweat. He shifts on the bed, shirt hanging off him as he leans over the side to hit the first of four little buttons on their heater. It’s quiet hum halts, leaving the room silent but for Mido-chin’s pencil and pens scratching against the paper of his notebooks. Blue eyes flit over to their clock. 

Atsushi sighs, settling himself back against the bed, drops his head onto the pillows as though he wore a crown of lead. His eyes fall closed immediately. Mido-chin's been at it for nearly four hours. He'll call full-time shortly.

The man sighs again, loud, deep.

Basketball had been an outlet too, Atsushi realises, as he rolls onto his side, the mattress groaning with his movements. Crushing your opponents on the court was far more socially acceptable than pushing the ones you met on the playground or in the classroom, even if Atsushi preferred to crush their spirits, and see the hope die in their eyes. His middle school team had been the first  _good_ friends he’d ever had, before Teikou’s Generation of Miracles had turned into machines.

He sometimes wonders if life really would have been that different if Seirin hadn’t beaten Yosen that day…

Frowning and running a large, long fingered hand through his tangled hair, Atsushi hopes Kiki’s drawing keeps her from the stereotypical teenage angst of puberty. Atsushi hopes she finds a friend she can rely on. He has Mido-chin (and always has, to a point), but he is grateful for the friendships he’d developed in high school. Friendships he’s sure to keep a float, even if he only texts them once every month.

Atsushi forces a blue eye open, blinking blearily until the smudges that make up the man hunched over his desk sharpen and clear into shapes and defined colours. The green of his hair is highlighted golden light from his lamp, whilst Mido-chin’s sweater stretches across the backs of his shoulders as he hunches and lowers, signs of fatigue’s final blows.

Mido-chin was bullied. Still is, if the curt answers he gives his mother and sister about his classmates is anything to go by. Atsushi had seen it in middle school. Apparently his hair was too green, his speech too formal. Then when he’d started bringing his lucky items to school and had near drowned himself in Oha Asa’s predictions – it was all fuel to a fire, Atsushi has never tried to control or put out.

He watches as Mido-chin’s head droops, disappearing behind broad shoulders, before it is jerked up again. He rubs at an eye vigorously, as though he’ll get rid of the burning tiredness that has set up camp behind his eyelids will be frightened away by his will alone. It makes worry sit on Atsushi’s chest as heavy as a brick, makes him frown and his forehead crinkle.

In middle school he’d wondered sometimes if the reason why he was first attracted to Mido-chin was because he’d catered to him without prompting. Or perhaps it was the way he had attempted to keep him in line, despite the fact that Atsushi barely listened? Or perhaps, he’d wondered sometimes, the first time Mido-chin had completely caught his attention was when he’d accepted his offered sweets? Not many would do that, knowing he truly enjoyed his snacks.

However, as the years have gone by, Atsushi has grown to appreciate the fact that Mido-chin doesn’t expect anything from him. Atsushi had had a couple of nearly-girlfriends. Girls who had asked him out on a date, gone on one or two more before the girl had decided she’d had enough. They expected him to take charge, to cater and when the need arose, protect. One girl, with long, dark hair and wide, wide eyes had ended one of their dates screaming about it. About how he’d let another man talk down to her, let him humiliate her as he had. All she’d have had to do was say was it was an accident, to apologise. Atsushi hadn’t understood at the time why she’d gotten so offended by his silence.

Midorima Shintarou didn’t need protection during middle or high school, and he doesn’t now. He is proud. Prickly in a way that only Mido-chin can make endearing. Atsushi watches carefully as the scratch of Mido-chin’s pen halts for a few moments and a thick textbook, roughly the size and weight of a concrete filled cake tin is dragged towards him. He is hard working, caring though he finds it hard to show and even harder to admit. But he answers when Atsushi calls, always replies to his texts, even if he’s in one of his lectures. He makes sure there is a second blanket at the end of the bed because he knows of his own bad habit of stealing the one they start with around their shoulders when they first go to bed each night. Mido-chin is the one that wakes up early to see him off to work, to make sure he has his lunch packed and his clothes tucked in properly and his socks matching (though lately he’s been fumbling and forgetting this step of their morning ritual).

But Mido-chin is capable, and that is all Atsushi needs to know about the matter.

Atsushi shifts his legs off the bed, levering himself upright with a slow, lethargic grace. His sweats are hanging low on his hips, threatening to fall as he stands, meandering slowly to his partner’s seat.

Mido-chin works too hard. Atsushi has always said that. From their first practice together in Teikou, to that moment, when Atsushi wraps his large hands around Mido-chin’s shoulders. He startles Mido-chin doing so. Green eyes are wide beneath his smudged glasses, red rimmed and irritated from lack of sleep and too much concentrating.

“Time for bed, Mido-chin.” His eyes are half-lidded, his voice soft, slightly gruff from his dozing.

Mido-chin adjusts his glasses, looking back down at the mess of homework sheets and notes and books that has developed in front of him. Atsushi wouldn’t have recognised the desk as his Mido-chin’s has Mido-chin not been sitting at it.

“I have-”

“No,” Atsushi immediately cuts in, his thumbs pressing into the rock hard flesh between Mido-chin’s shoulder blades. It takes a huge amount of effort and that worry sitting on Atsushi’s chest feels more like a knee knocking the wind out of him, “Bed, now.”

The purple haired man hears the bitten short, half protest of a groan that leaves Mido-chin’s lips, feels how he ripples beneath his hands, lax then completely tense again, as he attempts to argue. Atsushi will have none of it tonight though. He presses again, dragging his thumbs, releasing the pressure quickly before he presses again. Soon Mido-chin’s head rolls back as fingers and thumbs play up to his neck, and further still so they’re pressing behind Mido-chin’s pretty ears as long fingers frame his jaw from behind. There is still the slightest frown gracing his lips, whilst Mido-chin’s brows are still pulled together, but his eyes are closed and his pen has fallen from lax fingers.

Atsushi’s massages are usually lazy and sloppy, but he concentrates and remembers with little difficulty the places and ways Mido-chin has played him. He places his thumbs in the centre of Mido-chin’s forehead, dragging out before he moves onto the green haired man’s temples, rubbing with a firm touch that has Shintarou hissing, gasping and sighing.

Mido-chin’s practically melting off his seat when Atsushi deems him helpless enough to guide to bed, with his arm wound tight around Mido-chin’s waist. The other man’s eyes are barely open, his breathing slowing with each dragged step, lips open slightly and his legs limp as he practically hangs off Atsushi.

He works too hard, Atsushi thinks again, for the umpteenth time. Mido-chin is training to be a doctor, his desk piled with homework and assignments so high sometimes he worries they’ll topple and crush Mido-chin. It wouldn’t be so bad if Mido-chin didn’t feel the need to work as well. But he wants to provide, doesn’t want Atsushi to have to work a few more hours each week to make up for the fact that he’d be paying all of the rent.

He takes on too much. Is afraid of failing more than ever, now that he is  _attempting_ to take steps away from depending on lucky items and horoscopes. 

Perhaps Atsushi should have a chat with Mido-chin’s sister. Invite her over for dinner. She always makes Mido-chin relax and smile, and she always brings the most scrumptious of desserts when she does.

He drops his partner onto the bed. Rolls him over onto his back, arms splayed wide.

“Mido-chin should stay home with me tomorrow.” He says, as he tugs off Mido-chin’s orange slippers, slips him out of his slacks and undoes the top two buttons of his sweater, then tucks him into bed. Atsushi can't help but slide his eyes down Mido-chin's form, appreciative even as he tuts about him. He doesn’t get a reply, not that he’s expecting one.

Mido-chin is asleep before Atsushi can slip himself under the covers and wrap himself around his worn out lover.

They will need to talk about this, Atsushi decides as he flicks off the light and carefully navigates the dark room. It’s not his most favourite of things, and he’ll have to give up his snacks for the hour or so the discussion takes (perhaps longer, should Mido-chin prove to be as stubborn as he always it), but it needs to be done.

He slips himself under the covers, shivering slightly as he grasps Mido-chin’s cold hands in his warm ones, as he wraps a long, long arm around his green haired lover. He feel an overwhelming urge to kiss him, so he does, nestling his face against the side of Mido-chin’s, nuzzling his cheek slightly as his own eyes slide closed.

Atsushi cares for Mido-chin. For Shintarou.

The only person he feels the need to protect him from, is Mido-chin himself.


	3. TakaMido: He's Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [takaokazunyari](http://takaokazunyari.tumblr.com/post/88850049036/izukidding-replied-to-your-post-hot-dad) said in a post on tumblr: 
> 
> _MIDORIMA AS A WORRYING FATHER THOUGH CAN YOU IMAGINE_
> 
> and I imagined.

"Shin-chan, sit down," Kazunari yawned from the lounge as he ran a hand through his cropped hair, "You’ll wear a hole in our carpet." 

"He’s late, Kazu."

"He probably got sidetracked whilst having fun with his friends. And he’s only a couple of minutes late, anyway."

Shintarou huffed, his brows furrowing as he continued to pace their lounge room. He swept past their TV, arms rising to fold over his chest as he came to a halt in front of the open window. Kazunari counted to ten before Shintarou dropped his arms stiffly to his sides again, then he turned to stride back towards their dining table. Kazu thought it was kind of cute, in that awkward, Shintarou way. It was that unique sort of cute that had captured his heart back in their school days and only made him fonder of the man in front of him as time had worn on. 

He laid his head back against one of the pillows, a large, affectionate smile tugging at his lips. 

"What is keeping him?" 

Kazu hummed at the mumbled words, picturing the way Shintarou would glare out the window, across their meager front-yard and watch the street outside like a hawk. He'd squint when any passing cars’ lights would send a glare off his glasses and into his lovely eyes, would wish for those cars to burn for dare disturbing his worry-fueled vigil. The sun was nearly completely down, orange, purple, red and pink painting the sky, but people seemed fond of highbeams in their neighbourhood. Shintarou was constantly annoyed by them.

All was quiet for a few moments. Moments Kazunari couldn’t help but breathe in, attempting to ignore his darling husband as he sent waves of worry crashing through their house. Shintarou worried too much. Kazunari couldn’t count on their fingers and toes combined and tripled how many times he’d been late home when visiting Shin-chan. His parents had been more concerned when he was on time. 

Kazu’s steel-grey eyes slid open at the thought, glinting mischievously as he rolled onto his side to regard Shintarou.

"Maybe he found himself a _special friend_ ~?" He sang, voice set higher.

It was like seeing one of the meerkat in one of their son's favourite nature documentaries when it realised danger was nearby. Shintarou’s back when rimrod straight, his shoulders stiffened, shaking minutely from the strain even as the rest of him went so rigid Kazu was sure he’d tip rather than bend with even a breath of air. Kazunari couldn’t see his face, but he bet those eyes of his would be shining bright green with concern, with horror, wide and unfocused as he thought about the all possibilities such a simple, perhaps not-so-innocent sentence.

Kazunari slipped off the lounge. He stretched back, arms up and out, snapping a few bones back into place as he yawned huge and long and loud. He smiled indulgently, lifting his shirt to scratch at his soft tummy as he rubbed his sock covered toes into their new plush carpet. He'd had to give it to Moimoi, she had great taste. They were going to have to let her have a crack at their bedroom next. The heavens knew they needed a new bed.

His gaze slipped over to his husband. His eyes slid over his tall frame, though the frumpy, old and loose sweater he was wearing made him seem smaller than Kazu knew Shintarou was. He seemed to slowly be sinking in on himself, his shoulders now down and hunched in as he got to the more severe scenarios running through his head.

Kazu couldn't help but smile. He was happy that Shintarou loved their son so much he was thinking of 100 different scenarios that were most definitely not happening and trying to think of ways to warn against them (though he was useless at that, he really was. Generally bad things were solved by Oha Asa when Shintarou felt out of his league - which was most of the time, when it came to new things. Unfortunately her show no longer existed, the lady behind it all having retired and moved to live somewhere in the countryside). He was absolutely giddy that he was showing him. He had hated when Shintarou would attempt to hide what he was feeling from him. The effort, no matter how futile (considering Shintarou was a  _horrible_ actor), was somewhat insulting. 

He padded over to Shintarou, slipping his arms around his waist before pressing his cheek to his husband’s back. He nuzzled between his shoulder blades, humming lightly as Shintarou’s larger, smoother hands slid up his forearm to his wrist and further still to trace his fingers, then clutch them tightly. Kazunari pulled him close, and waited.

Eventually, Shintarou’s voice found its way around the room, small and somewhat scared, “He’s far too young…”

"Not really, Shin-chan." Kazu said, pressing his cheek hard against Shintarou even as he spoke, hands turning to link with Shintarou’s comfortably, "I had my first crush when I was 12 and was officially dating a lovely, young lady when I was 13."

Shintarou’s grip tightened on Kazunari’s hands again.

"He’s 14…"

"Must take after you~"

Settling a chaste kiss at the very centre of his favourite broad back, over vertebrae, Kazu quick as water over tile slipped around to Shintarou’s front, finally getting to gaze into - as he knew they would be - big, worried, emerald eyes.

"Don’t worry so much, I was just teasing. He really is just like you," Kazunari smiled, again wrapping his arms around Shintarou’s waist, squeezing with his elbows. He felt warmth bloom in his chest at the familiar heat from Shintarou’s arms as they settled across his shoulders.

"He’d rather marry his TV at the moment, rather than go out with girls - or boys, for that matter."

He rubbed Shintarou’s back, watching with practiced ease as the man’s face twisted with doubt. He bit his lip, eyes dropping down the Kazunari’s chest, fingers playing idly with the dark hair at the back of Kazu’s neck. Kazu waited patiently. Shintarou had something to say and he would say it, as he always had, when given time.

"What if something does happen?" His voice was soft, his words almost whispered, because Shintarou was always worrying about their boy. Even when he knew the answer. 

"In life or love?"

"Both."

"We’ll be here to help him. He’s getting old enough to protect himself, but Shin-chan, much like when your parents helped us out when our old place burnt down, we’ll always have our son’s back. And front. And well, every part of him, really."

It was a terrible joke, but either it or more probably the idea itself made Shintarou smile his small, small smile. Sometimes all anyone needed was to hear their own thoughts voiced with another’s voice. It felt like Kazu held an inferno in his chest, with the way his heart blazed with joy at the sight of it. Well versed now, so many years out of school, but still one of Kazunari’s favourite things about the taller man. His fingers slid up into Kazunari’s hair, threading through the short, black but greying strands. His eyes closed, head falling forward so his forehead was against Kazu’s, his glasses slipping down his nose and bumping lightly against Kazunari's cheeks.

"We are lucky, Kazu." He breathed.

"That you have me to teach our darling son how to win over potential soul-mates? Yeah. He’d be doomed with you." He grinned up at Shintarou, stealing a quick kiss from (almost) pouting lips. He pulled Shintarou closer, pasting their fronts together, eyes sliding partially closed as he gazed up at Shintarou, "Not that you didn’t do well in capturing me…" 

Shintarou’s blush hadn’t become any less adorable on him, despite the years. Kazu still felt the need to kiss both cheeks and ears when he saw it light up the taller man’s features. 

"I’m sure it was the other way around. You caught me and wouldn’t let go."

"No," Kazu said, stealing another quick peck, "I’m pretty sure it was you who glared at me first."

"I did not."

"I’m certain you di-"

_**BING BING BING** _

Kazu couldn’t help but laugh. Even as he pressed another kiss to Shintarou’s face, only to have Shintarou pull him back gently to kiss him properly. They quickly extracted themselves from the other’s grip, hands lingering in the other’s as Shintarou moved around Kazu. 

"Our son’s home." He said, hand squeezing Shintarou’s hand before the man began his short trek to the front door (made even shorter by his long, long legs). It felt uncomfortably cold when they let go, Shintarou opposite hand reaching for their front door’s handle.

Kazu smiled, this one fond and content, as Shintarou’s voice reached his ears.

"Finally."


	4. TakaMido: Mornings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling sleepy and wrote sleepy TakaMido.

Shintarou enjoys mornings. Particularly, when Kazunari's snoring softly behind him. 

He blinks awake, slow to come to, enjoying the warmth radiating from behind him and wrapped tightly around him. The sun's only just peeking over the houses in the city, making his blinds glow a deep yellow like the nightlight in his sister's bedroom.

Shintarou's groggy at first, snuggling closer out of enjoyment more than conscious decision. He curls his long body in closer to the one behind him, sliding bare feet up bared legs as he nudges his head back against Kazunari's nose, making him squirm, huff into his hair and making his arms tighten around his waist. He hums lowly to himself, hot palms tracing down Kazunari's bare arms until he finds his hands and curls his own larger ones around them. His partner always sleeps with his arms around him. He's not woken once without them when they've fallen asleep together.

Kazunari's a heavy sleeper. Shintarou had learnt that swiftly after awaking the first morning his boyfriend had slept over. That first time Shintarou had been cautious, nerves making him alert much quicker than he'd ever usually find himself, extremely uncomfortable in the other man's arms and his with Kazunari's nose to his neck, his lips sliding against his shoulder as he fidgeted. He hadn't been used to such close proximity with anyone, back then. Still is in some instances, if Shintarou's to be honest. But that first morning - he'd been cautious, careful, considerate, his movements slow, his reactions to anything Kazunari had reacted to (even a tiny bit) crazed and panicked. He hadn't wanted to wake the dark haired man, not when he seemed so peaceful. But he hadn't even murmured when Shintarou had gently and accidentally elbowed him in the chest. There hadn't even been a hitch in Kazunari's breath when Shintarou had accidentally dropped his glasses with surprise as Kazunari's arms tightened around him, or when he'd nearly hissed at his clumsiness when he'd then nearly dropped them on the darker haired man's head.

Shintarou's glad. His vision's bad; he needs his glasses to make blurred fuzzes of colour make any sense at all. Right now, with the light so dim, it doesn't really matter. Not as he submerges himself in the feel of Kazunari's arms around him or his tickling breaths playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. Green eyes, still murky with the remnants of sleep clinging to him, gradually clear and it's during this process that Shintarou's taken to daringly leaving the blankets, reaching over to his bedside table and feeling for cold glass and metal. He snaps them up, fingers soft around their shape, but grip firm so he doesn't re-enact their first morning. 

He quickly buries his shoulder and arm under the covers again, the cold feeling like pins pricking at his skin when it's exposed. He lays still and just breathes as he wakes fully and lets Kazunari's warmth permeate each of his molecules. It's once he's not shivering that he begins the next stage of this ritual.

Shintarou carefully rolls himself over so he's facing Kazunari, legs threaded through the other man's and curled up tight so his toes remain under the blanket. Unfortunately, this leaves him half the world away, the air between them chilling with startling speed as he clasps Kazunari's hand with one of his own between them when the man murmurs unhappily. His glasses are clutched in the other, but he doesn't put them on. Not yet.

Kazunari's frowning, Shintarou's sure of it. Pale yellow highlights Kazunari's hair, messy from sleep and sticking up at all angles. His ears shine dimly as well, but it's the little specks of yellow that find their way amongst the shadows covering Kazunari's face that alert the green-haired man to his partner's unhappiness.

Shintarou digs his cheek into his warm pillow. He studies Kazunari's face with an almost bewildered fondness. He's close enough that he can make out general shapes, even if their outline is blurred. Adoration blooms in his chest and spreads like a speedy weed throughout his entire being at the sight. He can't make out the details, doesn't need to at this stage; he's memorised his partner's face and is sure he needn't use his glasses to tell the man's mood again. But he needs to make sure...

He leaves his glasses resting on the bed between them, instead spreading his fingers to trace up the hard lines of Kazunari's front. His face flushes a pale pink when his little finger stumbles over one of Kazunari's nipples, pebbled with the burst of cold air that had found its way between them with Shintarou's shifting. Kazunari's habit of sleeping shirtless has been something of a worry for the green haired man over the past few months, but it's during mornings like these, when he's gifted with fields of warm, soft skin that's speckled with hair that he can't help but be grateful. Shintarou can't help himself. He flattens his palm against the steady rise and fall of Kazunari's chest, feels his heart beat steadily, traces his nipple again, just because he can, using the tips of his fingers.

Shintarou hadn't thought he'd find someone he'd be so fond of. Never thought he'd find someone who's mere pulse running under his fingers as he traces a warm neck, would make him thankful. 

A smile tugs at his lips. It's small - tiny really - but significant. His fingers trace around his partner's jaw, the light stubble scratching against his smooth fingers. Shintarou loves Kazunari. And it's during these mornings, when his fingers are tracing the arc of a rather fetching nose and the crease of thin, chapped lips that he realises how much.  

Long fingers stretch out as he pushes Kazunari's dark hair away from his face, as his thumb glides over the crease between Kazunari's brows. Shintarou's fingers are starting to chill now too, starting to feel stiff and sore with the frigid morning air. The low glow from the window's steadily brightening too, the wisps of stray hair sticking out from Kazunari's head becoming more pronounced amongst the shoddy blurs. 

It's usually around now that he'd slip his glasses on and _really_ take his partner in. But Shintarou's seen Kazunari's sleeping face - seen it so many times he's lost count. Right now, he simply wants to bask in his partner's warmth, perhaps sleep a while longer, before they get up, Shintarou's mother makes them breakfast and Kazunari annoys him with a million questions and statements on their activities for the day. 

Kazunari's hand has been twitching since Shintarou had pulled them apart. He can feel it against his own, the one clinging tight to Kazunari's other one. 

He picks his glasses up, turning onto his back to place them on the table again before Shintarou wiggles himself forward, so his front is pressed against Kazunari's. Their hands remain clasped, but Kazunari's free one is quick to curl around him again. Shintarou can't help but smile a while longer at the satisfied huff the dark haired man lets out as that hand curls around his side. He tries to smother it in Kazunari's chest, the pressing of his lips above Kazunari's heart a positive coincidence. Shintarou returns the squeeze, curling his own long arm around Kazunari, tracing his spine with cool fingers. 

He has other things to learn about Kazunari, Shintarou quickly realises, as he bends his head forward so his nose is pressed to his partner's collarbones and is hidden beneath the blankets. He smells of sweat, musky from their time beneath thick covers. Smells sticky as though he'd been out in the humidity. Shintarou doesn't know if he appreciates it until he realises he doesn't really mind if his partner's going to nuzzle his hair so affectionately. He sounds content when he hums a bit.

It's overwhelming, Shintarou's urge to press another kiss to the chest in front of him. He can't come up with a reason why he shouldn't, so he does, quick, chaste. 

"Mmm... Go to sleep, Shin-chan." 

His eyelids feel heavy, as nimble fingers go slow as they trace his temple to card through his hair, as he feels a kiss being pressed to his hair.

So he does.


	5. MuraMido: Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My own prompt: Chocolate.

He doesn't like sweets as a rule. Shintarou’s tastes run plain. But sometimes, when work is long, his eyelids heavy and his stomach is complaining like a petulant child, he feels he needs something a bit different.

Sometimes he craves sweets. Not many. He isn’t like Atsushi, who can down a whole box of pocky within a five minute period and wonder if there’s any left in the kitchen cupboards. He just wants something that will dance on his tongue. 

He drops by the convenience store, feet dragging as he walks from the train station. He recognises the cashier, nods in his direction as a greeting. He looks dead on his feet, almost as much as Shintarou feels, with dark circles under his eyes, looking like bruises. Shintarou's aren't as mottled, but he knows he's got the beginnings of some serious bags. 

He sways when he comes to a stop in front of the lolly section. Shintarou slowly scans their colourful packaging, barely acknowledging the words on them but rather recognising the patterns and colours he's gotten so used to seeing on the middle shelf of their pantry. He frowns, idly pushing his glasses into place again before he picks up one, then two, then three, different packets of lollies, pocky, gummies, some pink, some yellow, some green and blue. He decides on one of the chocolate bars Atsushi has been fond of lately for himself, but continues to pile several bags of chips, sweet biscuits and finds himself heading towards the fridges for cream before he can think about what he's gathering. They'll need supplies for the next couple of days though; they've been sure to make their work schedules match and despite how tired he knows they both are, Atsushi will need to eat. 

His arms are full, squeezed tight around his spoils when he takes them up to the cashier. It's a messy affair, stacking them on the little bench. The dark haired man doesn't bat an eyelid, working much like a robot as he systematically scans and bags each item, his brown eyes meeting Shintarou's green for a mere moment. He's had a bad day too, it seams. 

Shintarou exchanges money and pleasantries, his voice barely a whisper in the little, quiet store. The cashier's in for a long night. 

Less than 15 minutes later he's pushing his front door open, quietly uttering, "I'm home" to an empty hallway. He leans heavily on the wall by the door as he exchanges his shoes, both his work bag and his bag of goods clasped in his right hand before he ambles slowly into the apartment. 

Atsushi's most likely asleep, Shintarou assumes as he puts his spoils away, after dropping his work bag on the lounge. It's nearly 12:30am and Atsushi's never been one to wait for him when he feels like a nap.

With shaky hands, Shintarou pushes his own chocolate to the side so he can put the kettle on and grab his well used mug off the sink. It's something his sister and Kazunari had picked out for him a few years back for his birthday; it has a frog on it. It has lopsided googly eyes. Usually Shintarou can't help but fondly realise how utterly foolish it looks, but his brain isn't working properly and is slowly shutting down as he slows for the night. He doubts he'll be thinking much at all in five minutes.

With that knowledge tucked in a corner of his brain, Shintarou barely acknowledges that their home has seats inside until his tea is finished and warming his cool hands as he sips at it. He sits at the table with a huge sigh. Letting himself sag back against the chair's wooden back, head tilted so he's looking at the ceiling, neck creaking and crunching. Shintarou winces.

It's been a long day. 

Time passes swiftly.

Shintarou feels as though he's blinked, but when he reaches for his mug it's cooler, almost cold. He sighs again, rolling his body forward so he can reach for his chocolate. He just needs a little something in his stomach before he falls asleep. Something to wake up with.

The packaging screams throughout the room, as silent as it was. But Atsushi sleeps like a log, bogged down in deep mud, and their room is a fair distance away anyway. He quickly breaks it in half, then in half again, nibbling on a corner, delighting quietly in how sweet it is as he wraps the rest and places it in the pantry with the rest of the treats. 

Sometimes he understands Atsushi's love of sweets. The chocolate's almost alive on his tongue, sweet, with the tang of bitter cocoa. Shintarou can't help the little happy sound he makes when he slowly sucks the little bite into a lingering taste on his tongue. 

This continues until he's finished. He's still hungry, but his craving's been sated. He stands, rinses his mug and continues to suck on the little piece of perfection left in his mouth. He pads into the bedroom, turning off lights on the way, tired, half closed eyes fond when he finds Atsushi spread across the entirety of their bed, arms and legs akimbo. If his limbs were the tiniest bit longer, he'd be able to reach each corner of the bed.

Shintarou changes slowly, after he flicks his small bedside light on and kicks off his slippers. His pants are placed neatly over one of their chairs, leaving him in his briefs before Shintarou starts working on the buttons of his white shirt. Shintarou shivers as he pulls his nightshirt on, swiftly sliding his glasses off and placing them on the table as he drops onto the bed. 

He jostles Atsushi, but the other man doesn't budge. It's typical. 

Shintarou isn't gentle when he starts to inch under the covers. His cold feet push Atsushi's over to his side as he curls one of the taller man's arms up so he can lie his head on it. Then he presses the length of his body to Atsushi's and nudges, pushing gently because Atsushi is a child and often refuses to budge simply because. It's an energy sapping process. By the time he's comfortable, yawning hugely, Shintarou barely has the energy to reach out to turn off the light. 

He almost convinces himself to not bother, when his outstretched hand is pulled back and he finds himself wrapped in impossibly long limbs, hot breath being blown across the back of his neck and shoulders as Atsushi murmurs.

" _Mmmmm_... Tarou-chin," Atsushi plants a slow, chaste kiss to his neck, "You're late."

"The surgery lasted longer than expected." Shintarou replies just as slowly. "Then there was an accident on one of the main roads. I am lucky to be home at all."

"You missed dinner." 

"I apologise." 

"Mm." 

Shintarou lets himself be rolled onto his back, eyes practically closed as he feels Atsushi's still sleep riddled gaze regard him. It's hot, burns him. Always has, if the green haired man's to be completely honest. Sometimes, when he has more energy for thought, he thinks Atsushi wants to eat him up. He slides his eyes completely closed, sighs slowly. He tilts his head back into the pillows the slightest bit. His neck hurts.

"It's your day off tomorrow?" Atsushi asks, long fingers framing Shintarou's face as his thumb circle under his eye. Usually the question would annoy Shintarou, because  _of course_  it's his day off. It's Atsushi's too. 

"Yes."

"Spend all day in bed with me?"

Shintarou sighs contently when he feels chapped lips press to his own. It's a simple kiss, light in pressure. They're both tired; Shintarou from surgery, Atsushi from his early shifts at the patisserie. He does manage to lift his own hand to curl his fingers into Atsushi's hair when he presses a second kiss to his lips, only slightly more enthusiastic in that Shintarou feels a slick tongue flick at his lips. He parts them. Melts.  

He hears Atsushi groan when he cards his fingers through his long hair, as he scratches lightly at the back of the other man's head. Shintarou's grateful when his lover does the same to him.  

"You taste nice," Atsushi whispers. 

Shintarou cracks his eyes open to attempt a glare that falls far shorter than any of his most terrible, "You haven't brushed your teeth."

"Neither have you. You hypocrite, Tarou-chin."

Strong fingers tug lightly on Atsushi's hair when Shintarou feels it start to descend, "Turn the light off first." 

He gets an unimpressed, self-pitying sigh as a response, but Atsushi does it. He barely moves, simply reaches, but their smothered in darkness a mere moment later and Shintarou can't help but sigh again, as he feels Atsushi's cheek settle against his chest. He's wrapped in long, long arms, and Atsushi lays half over him, his hair tickling at Shintarou's chin. 

It used to annoy Shintarou, how Atsushi would cover him. Now he finds it comforting and the call of sleep becomes impossible to deny. It's all heat and the smell of baked goods and fruit and icing. 

He counts Atsushi's breaths idly. 

_One._

_Two._

Then there is warmth and darkness. There is fitful rest and comfort.

They sleep like that until morning. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yo! Yeah, I know. Another set. *brick'd* But I felt the need to explore TakaMido, MuraMido and FuriAka. So if anyone has any requests or prompts for those pairings, feel free to drop by and send them to me: [lupisashes](http://lupisashes.tumblr.com)


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